Sons of Cullen
by irishchicka1
Summary: Synopsis: His life has always been lived for the Club. He's been raised in it, he embraced it and now he's risen to the station of VP in it. It's in his blood, his bike….the club…his freedom….his chaos…and that's the way he likes it. It's an outlaw's life he belongs to, a rich and sacred tradition of club first, family second and freedom third. It's all he's ever known and wan
1. Prologue

**SOC. (Sons of Cullen)**

Author: Irish Chicka

Rating: *pointed look* Really? Pfft, like I'd write anything but NC-17/MA

Beta Supreme: the incomparable Naughty M, of course. Peas and carrots, people. We is peas and carrots. Package deal.

Synopsis: His life has always been lived for the Club. He's been raised in it, he embraced it and now he's risen to the station of VP in it. It's in his blood, his bike….the club…his freedom….his chaos…and that's the way he likes it. It's an outlaw's life he belongs to, a rich and sacred tradition of club first, family second and freedom third. It's all he's ever known and wanted….until now.

Disclaimers: The characters aren't mine (obviously) I just like to fuck with them. Also, any similarities between this story and a true motorcycle club are just coincidental. This is a figment of my imagination and after too many nights of watching Sons of Anarchy. No malice or infringement meant toward any club that exists.

Characters:

Edward….EX (explanation forthcoming…keep reading)

Bella…..as herself

Carlisle….Pops

Esme…Es (or Ma, to Edward and Emmett)

Charlie Swan….New Chief of Police

Emmett….Meat (will be explained)

Rosalie….Roxie

Alice….Pix or Pixie

Jasper….Jazz or J-Dog

Jacob…..Wolfie

Leah…Lee

Seth….Prospect

Other developing characters will be determined and explained later.

Common terminology within an OMC (Outlaw Motorcycle Club):

"Colors"….patches displayed on a members vest that indicate certain attributes, promotions or proclivities. A club's colors are a sacred thing.

Prospect….a person in a probationary period that wants to join the MC.

Sargent at Arms…the person in the club that is the strongest physically. Keeps order among the MC members.

Road Captain…plans the "Runs" the MC takes whether it is drug/arms runs or toy drives and other social functions the club participates in within the community.

Old Lady..the wife/or steady of a member of the club

Broads….women used as sexual objects, a one night stand

Mama/Sheep: women, generally belonging to the club that are public property and available for use to any member at any time.

1%...a patch or term, used by outlaw motorcycle clubs to indicate they are indeed outlaws and follow no government, city or state laws other than the laws of the club itself.

"Cut"…a bikers vest displaying "colors" and descriptive patches (i.e. '13'=pot dealer, etc.)

********S.O.C*********

_Prologue (EX's POV):_

There isn't anything like it. The feeling of the open road, with all that vibrating horsepower humming between your thighs. The smell of gasoline, oil and freedom in your nose as you literally fly. Honestly, it's a feeling that's so ingrained in of me; I don't know any other way to exist. It's not just a choice for me, it just IS.

I was born Edward Xavier Cullen (yeah, my parents for all their hippy lifestyle choices can be pretentious as fuck sometimes.) Everybody calls me EX. I think I was conceived on an idling Harley, although that is NOT a picture I care to even waste a minute of my mind thinking of. That shit is just disturbing.

I wasn't just born into the SOC (Sons of Cullen). I exist and thrive because of it. It's just who I am. As VP, it's become a staying part of my everyday life and I've got to tell you, there's no better life than this. I guess I'm getting ahead of myself here. Maybe I should just slow down (fuck that!) and share a little of the backstory.

Pops joined an MC early in life. I think he was the ripe old age of 19, when he fought balls to the wall and teeth bared to get to be in the high ranks. Yeah, it cost him a couple of years in prison but he did what he had to do to reach the top. When he came out, free and clear on the other side, Ma was waiting for him with open arms (and legs….damnit, wrong train of thought there) and the Sons of Cullen were born. He said he'd never again be at the bottom looking up; now Pops was calling the shots. That was 1985.

Pops built his MC from the ground up, with battered knuckles and spilled blood along the way. His club was a formidable force to be reckoned with and still is today. Pops takes no shit what so ever, and will not blink an eye before sending you to meet your Maker if it's right for the Club.

I was born screaming into this world in the summer of 1986, while my old man was head to toe in prison orange. According to Ma, I came into this world with a set of lungs and one piss-ant fire full of stubbornness. Some things never change, I guess. I was cutting my teeth on the handlebars of a Harley as the gang gathered at the gates for dad's release.

Ten months after, came Meat….or Emmett Carlisle Cullen, as it's stated on his birth certificate. The name Meat came from Uncle Billy. He took one look at a naked, screaming Emmett in the nursery and said infamously, "Christ, look at the meat on that kid!". Meat stuck, and don't think we haven't measured that shit. Fucker is gargantuan in the dick department….guess it runs in the goddamn family. Not bragging or anything….just stating the facts.

Pa turns his head to smile at me as he guns the motor once…twice…three times and pulls ahead on the road. This is who we are. This is family, albeit sometimes all kind of fucked up and twisted. It's riddled with issues of legality, drunkenness but above all family. We ARE the Sons of Cullen, and chaos reigns.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Brotherly Love**

Warning: This series will definitely earn the NC-17/MA Rating. It will contain violence, illegal activities, drug and alcohol use, lots of potty mouths, sexual situations and the objectification of women used as sexual objects. There will be NO RAPE! I just can't write that. I'm keeping it as realistic as I can and those things happen. So if you are offended or triggered by any of these, this may not be the story for you.

Disclaimer: This story is totally fictional. Any similarities of real life Motorcycle Clubs is purely coincidental. No harm or foul is intended.

To my two betas and pre-readers, My Mamadog93 and my hubs, Mister. Ya'll keep my butt in line and I loves ya for it.

********SOC********

(EX's POV)

There is a bite in the early morning air as I coast down IL-159 enjoying the sleepiness of the small town I call home. There's little traffic save the factory workers heading to the plant and the locals heading to work at the nearby military base. I have to grin as I pass the "World's Largest Ketchup Bottle" that is our major attraction, sad as it is. Hell, they even put that shit reference in a movie. If only they knew how many times Em and I had climbed that thing drunk off our asses.

The MC's home is in the sleepy little town of Collingsworth, IL. Small-town America and just a twenty-five mile drive to the heart of St. Louis. It provides everything the club needs, the local PD in our back pocket and access to the interstate highway system. For years, the club has held the weed market on this area of the Midwest. With the connections we have all across the US and Mexico, we can provide the best shit your hard-earned money can buy. That's the extent of it, though. We fight tooth and nail to keep all that other shit out of our town. Anyone peddling blow, crank or meth will find out all too quickly that we don't abide that shit and we tell them with a well-placed fist or bullet to prove it.

Do I feel guilty for providing the product to get people high? Fuck no! As long as the product is used for your own recreation and not selling it to the kids in the community, I couldn't give a fuck if you bleed cannabis, as long as you have the money to support the habit. Weed is the money maker for the club, but it isn't what I crave. It isn't what makes the adrenaline rush to my brain on a high that can last for days. That, my friends, quite simply is Harley's.

I've lived the better part of my life on the back of a bike and when I see one parked in a parking garage or outside some bar, I just…Have. To. Have. It. Yeah, boosting Harley's is my bread and butter. No one is better at it and it gives me a wicked thrill to tear it down and build it up again and sell it to some unsuspecting fucker that just has too much money to spend and not enough brain to know he's buying a stolen Harley, hence, the real heart of the Cullen Towing and Custom Bikes.

The towing side of the business gives us the "law-abiding" citizen persona and NOBODY can trace any stolen bike back to us. Yeah, I'm that good. A few of the others have become masters under my guidance, and yeah, it gives me a thrill to see it. Jaz, with his soft Southern drawl and gentle demeanor, can give you a smile and be roaring down the street on your bike in 60 seconds flat. He learned from the best…yours truly. I'm not bragging I just know my shit.

I roll into the garage and pull up beside Meat's ride, grinning as the powerful engine between my thighs rumbles to silence. That never gets old, no matter how many times I hear it. The garage is quiet in the sleepy morning, the other smarter fuckers choosing to stay in bed for a couple hours. Sue me; my bed was lonely with me and Rosie palm this morning.

Meat and I have always had a love/hate relationship. From the time that mouthy fucker was in diapers, we were constantly fighting and bickering, namely driving my parents ape shit. I love the big oaf, but nobody can get under my skin quicker than him. I don't know why I let him get to me, but I do.

Things have been tense and sketchy lately since the Police Chief met his untimely demise against the guns of the turf invading Mexican MC, Caốs. The PD was in our back pocket and paid nicely for it, hell, even a customer of some of our kickass weed, on occasion. The whole town has been up in arms since his passing…the club included. Those Mexican fuckers fired and fled, because they knew the melee that would follow when we found out. Just a case of the wrong fucker in the wrong place and our "in" with the local government is uncertain.

Needless to say, the mood around the garage has been somber, for the most part, excluding Meat's ever-present annoying commentary. Fucker just doesn't know when to shut the hell up.

I stroll inside the garage, the situation with the local PD heavy on my mind, and of course Meat is in rare form, even so early in the morning. I've told Ma again and again not to schedule us together in the towing schedule, but she's convinced we can use that time to "bond."

"Well, well, well, brother, glad you could join us. Do you keep banker's hours much?" Em asks, while wiping his greasy hands on a rag.

"Fuck you, Em; it's not even 7am. What, did Ro put you on the couch again because you can't get it up?" I ask with feigned innocence, knowing anything I say about Rosalie will cause a stir.

"Shut up, Fuckward! That isn't funny!" He huffs and busies himself with the gas tank on a custom job.

I know I need to just shake his comments off and go about my business, but I can't for the life of me comply. This is my little brother; it's my duty to chafe his nuts with my commentary.

"Say, Em, does Ro still scream out my name when she cums?" I ask with a chuckle before a brick force slams into me, slamming me back against the concrete floor.

"You sonofabitch!" He screams as his meaty fist meets my eye. Well, fuck, there goes the pretty face. We're rolling on the garage floor for dominance, trading punches tit for tat and the curses flying.

My fist meets jaw and I'm satisfied as his head cracks back against the concrete and an inhuman huff leaves his mouth. A good right hook catches me in the jaw and I taste the metallic, copper of blood on my tongue. Carts are upended spilling tools scattering across the floor as we fight. All the pent up energy of uncertainness about the club and its money unleashing into the my brother's face.

The clatter of metal on concrete brings the sound of feet, and I know who it is as I swear out loud as his fist rams into my stomach repeatedly. "Motherfucker, NEVER. *fist* Bring *fist* that *fist* up!" I wrestle him beneath me and let go with a repeated pounding into his face.

"Not my fault she likes my cock better!" I yell as the blood flows between us in spatters and spit. I know I'm hitting below the belt with him, but the tenseness of the club just spills out and I feel energized with unleashing it.

"Hey…HEY…HEYYYYY!" I hear her shrill scream as a metal oil pan flings across the wall. Oh shit, Ma is pissed. She struts to us in all her 5'5" glory and pries us apart, cursing us both.

"What the Sam Hell Fuck is this?" She screeches, and both Meat and I know we're about to get waylaid by Mama Esme's law.

"He fucking started it!" We both yell simultaneously and I can't help the chagrined drop of my head, noticing that Em does the same.

"What the hell is wrong with you two? Did I drop you both on your heads one too many times as babies? Jesus Christ!" She says with a huff, giving both of us a round smack to the back of our heads, while never taking the Marlboro out of her mouth. My Ma, the multi-tasker.

The soft thud of boot heels approaching causes us all to pause. He fills the doorway, not in stature, but in presence, and even with my cock-sure persona it makes me falter. He's dressed in faded jeans, a worn black t-shirt and his cut, toking on a well-loved cigar. Even being his son, it makes me stand up straighter, even though my eye is swelling and I can taste blood on my lip.

"What the fuck is going on?" He demands, and nothing the Pres says goes unanswered, even if he did spawn me.

"These two were saying good morning, as only our children can." Ma answers, dusting off her hands and joining my father in a face of unity.

"Well, Es, boys will be boys and ours are exceptionally prone to violence, wouldn't you say, love?" He says as the smoke leaves his mouth and his kisses her temple.

"Enough of this manly shit, we have work to do. EX, got a call. Need a tow just outside Baden. Car overheated." He says, and I feel his gaze travel over Meat and I, taking in each bruise, scratch and evidence of blood. I have enough brain to lower my head. He may be my father, but he's the President of the Sons. Priorities be damned.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Steam, Speechlessness and Cherry Fields**

Author's Note: Thanks to all of ya'll who are reading, reviewing and pimping this story. You make me have the warm fuzzies. Some have asked about a posting schedule…truth is I don't have one. See, I'm a lazy bitch ¾'s of the time but I will give you an inside scoop. I'm kind of an attention whore too, so reviews make me want to write. *hint, hint, nudge, nudge*

To my kick-ass betas/pre-readers/ass-kickers, Miss Naughty M (mamadog93) and my own Mr. (hubs). Thank ya'll from the bottom of my heart…big boobied hugs and tongue kisses for you both.

To SoapyMayhem: The manip that inspired me tonight. *MWAH* Thank you bb girl. You rock!

Warning: THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY! I am in no way affiliated with any MC and these situations are coming only from my demented little brain. Any similarities with any real MC are purely coincidental and no offense meant toward anyone who has/is involved with a real-life MC.

**XXXXXXX SOC XXXXXXX**

(EX's POV)

I had a nice 30-minute drive East on I-64 to drain off some the adrenaline pumping through my veins after my tussle with Meat. God knows my first instinct after a good hard fight is a good hard fuck, but unfortunately that isn't happening. Thanks so much Daddy C, you cock-blocking ass.

The scuffle with Em is a near daily occurrence to some extent. We can't be in the same room very long together without a fist flying or at the very least biting comments and an open palm to the back of the head. Those are usually reserved for Ma and Pops though. I keep insisting that's why Meat had brain damage and he usually tells me to go fuck myself in varying degrees of depravity.

I look briefly to the GPS with the tow's location noting I had about ten minutes to reach him/her. My eyes sweep across miles of cornfields to the left and the right, the singular expanse broken up by the dotting of a farmhouse or a barn. Sometimes in the middle of those cornfields pop up a suburban paradise of shopping areas and condos, housing developments and businesses all interrupting the tranquility of the corn swaying in the ever-present Midwest wind. I like it here. It is small-town American towns where farming is still the money-maker, but still has the comforts of big city living. Most times it is a slow and easy life…most times.

I see the archaic 1957 Chevy truck, red at one time but over the years has faded to a dusty shade of lightened brown. I see the hood popped and steam billowing from what I can already guess is a shit radiator. I turn into the emergency use only trail across the median and turn back toward it. That eye-sore doesn't hold my attention for long. No, it's the denim-encased ass of the owner looking down into the engine for a moment then throwing her dark hair behind her and throwing her hands up in obvious frustration. I can see that she's pissed as hell, obviously as she raises a Converse-encased foot and kicks the bumper with force. Did I mention her ass? Knuckle-biting, hand-gripping, spankable ass?

I pull the truck in ahead of her heap, backing up into position. Turning off the engine, I swing open the door and saunter back toward her. She turns to speak and I watch as her eyes go wide and travel from the top of my head down to my scuffed black boots. I guess she's not used to the likes of me. I've been told I'm intimidating, but I don't know if it's from the litany of black and red ink down the length of my arms or if it's the cut I'm wearing.

She's a slight, pretty little thing, all flush and slightly freckled. As I walk towards her, her hands slap against her thighs and her eyes shift nervously from left to right.

"You call for a tow?" I say, and the roughness of my voice from way too many damn years of smoking startles her and she starts slightly.

"Um…yeah…radiator I think." Her voice is soft and ethereal, each word she says trembling in her throat.

I look over her frame standing a mere 5'1 or 5'2. By her nervous movements, I think if I whispered "Boo" she would bolt screaming.

I walk to peer beneath the mammoth hood, hot steam dampening my face as I tinker with a few things unnecessarily. "Yeah, looks that way. How long has it been leaking?" I ask, propping a foot up on the rusted bumper.

"Backing out of my driveway in Baltimore?" She mumbles and fidgets.

"Christ, you drove this from Maryland with a leaking radiator?" I say, without thinking, incredulous that it made it 8 miles let alone 800. "Why the hell would you take that risk, lady?" I ask mumbling "Women!" under my breath…or so I thought.

"Now hold on a damn minute, Mr. whoever-you-are, if I wanted a lecture I'd call my dad. I called you for a tow, that's it. So keep your sorry opinions to yourself, thank you very much!" The ferocity in her voice makes me chuckle. I can't help it but seeing the kitten displaying her claws and seeing the fierceness in her face is amusing. Being around Ma for all these years still hasn't taught me you don't laugh at a mad woman. It tends to piss them off even more.

"Why…what…are you laughing at me?" She stammers and I see an alluring blush rise up her cheeks as her mouth opens and closes a few times unable to finish her thoughts.

"Yeah, sweetheart, I am. Never expected a slight little thing like you to surprise me, so yes, I find you a bit funny." I say as I go to the tow controls raising the flat bed and providing some slack in the line to hook up her truck.

"Anyone ever told you, you're an asshole?" She crosses her arms over the chest, only successfully pushing her tits up for my appraisal. Nice.

"Loads of people. But not many have lived to tell the tale. But seeing as we just met and all, I'll forgive you once." I say with a grunt as I hook the front of the frame. I turn towards her and see her eyes wide as she takes in the back of my cut. Yeah, the Sons of Cullen cause that effect in people.

She stalks up to me, all full of piss and vinegar, and points a finger at my chest. Her hair flows around her shoulders and my nose is filled with cherries, luscious ripe cherries. I grin devilishly as I take in the smell and I can almost taste them on my tongue.

I look down at her finger and raise a brow of expectation. "You…you don't scare me, Mister."

I again chuckle, picking up a lock of her dark hair, twirling it around my fingers as her eyes widen. "Aww, sweet Cherry, I wouldn't be so sure of that." The small gasp that escapes her mouth is music to my ears as I dismiss her and finish loading her truck.

"Hop in, cutie, I'll give you a ride to wherever you need." I don't look behind me as I climb in the truck and the engine roars to life. I sit for a few beats, smiling, before the passenger door is wrenched open in a huff and she unceremoniously climbs into the seat. Aerosmith blares through the speakers, the old stuff not that commercialized bullshit they play now. I turn it down marginally to spare her ears that probably aren't used to the noise, let alone the thundering motors of a Harley for many years. Hell, basically all my life.

"Cherry?" She asks as her dark eyes roam over my face. "Why did you call me Cherry back there?"

"Your hair. It smells like cherries. I smelled it on the wind as it blew your hair. Seemed fitting." I say giving her the patented crooked-Cullen smile, or as Pop's calls it the "panty-wetting Cullen smile" which earns HIM a smack to the back of the head from Ma, for a change.

"It's Isabella. Bella, actually." She murmurs, suddenly finding the dash with my dancing hula girl bopping along very interesting. Could be because Meat took a Sharpie and drew gigantic tits on her.

"Hmmm…Bella, huh? Think I'll stick with 'cherry'." I say pulling my cigs out of my jacket pocket. "Do you mind?"

"Yes, I do." She says, and huffs a muttered "Unbelievable" as I light up anyway. Allowing the nicotine to coat my tongue and expelling the smoke through my nose as I laugh.

"Sorry sweetheart, my rig…my rules. You'll get over it." I say with an arrogant nonchalant.

"Ugh, whatever, so what do they call you anyway?" She asks, picking at her nails.

"Strawberry, are you trying to get to know me. I'm touched, really. It warms my heart." I say with an exaggerated hand over my heart and the Cowboy Killer hanging from my lip.

Her eyes roll heavenward as her pouty pink lips mutter "Arrogant pig." I laugh loudly and it reverberates throughout the cab.

"EX…my name is EX." Her shocked look is expected.

"Your Mother actually named you EX? Was she high?" She asks flummoxed.

I snort. "Probably, but no that's my nickname. My real name is…well…it's Edward." I say, my voice dropping with the admission. Why I just told this annoying, yet beautiful girl my real name is beyond me. Blame my dick; he's usually to blame for all of my fucked-up decisions.

"Edward...huh, that's unexpected." She says, staring out the window contemplating.

"Why do you say that?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"I dunno, I mean, you really don't look like an Edward. Why the X?"

"Um…shit, it's Edward Xavier." I try to shrug it off as insignificant.

"Oh God, that's pretentious as hell." She laughs a tinkling trill of melodic sounds.

"Tell me about it." I say simply, hoping this subject will drop.

"So where am I taking you?" I say, hoping to discover her home address for future reference, hoping it includes her naked body below mine.

"Oh, Collinsworth Police Department will be fine." She says, nearly bouncing in her seat.

"Hey, you can't have me arrested just on the fact that I'm an asshole, you know." I say, feeling a bit nervous, like the other shoe's about to drop.

"Believe me; I'd do it if I knew it would stick. No, my dad…he's the new Chief of Police in Collinsworth."

Well, that is unfortunate and really fucking sucks.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Necessary Distractions**

_Author's Note: Remember, in this fic, that Edward is a biker. He doesn't see Bella…immediately fall in love and we have the HEA. So, there are going to be instances that he takes advantages of. Honestly, I'm loving writing him as an asshole. It's so deliciously wicked, I love it. So, sit tight, kiddies, I'll get you there…I promise. Along the way, though, we're gonna get gritty, loud and downright dirty with other characters. If this isn't your thing, this isn't your story._

_Posting schedule for SOC (providing nothing unforeseen happens) will be Tuesday and Saturday._

_Thanks for all the love you're showing this story. I don't tend to respond individually to each review (trust me, I read and adore each and every review and PM) but I'd rather take the time to write you readers another chapter than to spend that time writing responses. (Hope that doesn't make me out to be a thankless bitch *eep*) Know this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart and I couldn't write without ya'll. Much love xoxoIrish_

**XXXXXXX SOC XXXXXXX**

(EX POV)

I'm almost disappointed as I pull into the police station parking lot. Cherry provided some very colorful and interesting conversation on our trip. We discussed everything from music to muted (on my end) life's stories. She is easy to talk to and the more she talks, the more animated she becomes. Her face echoing such emotion and using her hands as an accessory to prove her points of the conversation. I like her. I'm fascinated by her. She is unassuming in the 'girl-next-door' beauty, but she has a mouth like a sailor and isn't afraid to show a little bit of fire when warranted.

I forgot for a while that I was entertaining the new Chief of Police's daughter. A Chief that I didn't know and that didn't know the Sons, someone who might cause us a fuckload of trouble in the very near future and that thought alone puts me a - bit on edge.

She takes a scrap of paper from her bag and scribbles her cell number on it, she hands it to me with a shy smile. "So you'll call me in a day or so? Let me know what's wrong with it and how much it will cost?"

"Yeah…sure…I'll call you." I say, cringing at great my conversationalist skills.

"Ok. Well, see you later, Edward." She says as she climbs down out of the rig. The reaction of hearing my full name tumbling from her lips, in her voice is visceral. Without even registering, I reach down to adjust my dick that has somehow found pleasure with that.

I watch her little ass sway as she disappears into the police station; giving myself a mental slap and put the truck in gear. 'Oh, no Cullen,' I think…bad idea, hugely bad idea. Monumentally bad idea.

I make quick work in making it back to the yard. I pull in and toss my keys to one of the Prospects, Seth. "Put this in a bay and have somebody look at the radiator." I don't wait for an answer as I enter the clubhouse.

More people are milling around than when I left. I nod to Jazz and glare at Em mouthing the words "Fuck You, Meat!" as he chortles with laughter, wrapping a meaty paw around Ro's neck. I walk with determination, admiring several of the 'sheep' milling around and my eyes zero in on a mane of black silky hair. I don't remember her name, and I don't care.

"Table in 15 minutes, boys." I hear Pops say with authority. Perfect, I think as I grip her elbow and pull her toward the hallway leading to our individual rooms in the clubhouse.

Shortly, I push her gently inside my room and slam the door, locking it because Meat is a voyeur motherfucker and I learned that with firsthand experience. Don't ask. I look into her wide brown eyes, yup, that'll do. I push on her shoulder, mumbling "Knees."

I make short work of releasing my belt and ripping open my pants, sighing in relief as my cock springs free finally, so hard it hurts. I take a moment to relish her gasp at the size and push the back of her head toward me. "Suck."

I can't resist the sigh as I feel her warm mouth encasing me, tentatively taking more and more in. Sweetheart, this isn't senior prom in the back of daddy's car, suck it. I wrap my hand in her short black bob and I was right silky.

"Fuck, that's it, suck me down." I say as my hips start to thrust, grinning as she gags around me and pulls off to suck the tip. I press against the back of her head as my hips thrust deep inside her mouth. Shit, that's it.

My head falls back, thrusting shallowly, enjoying the feeling of being in a wet hot mouth. My eyes close against the sensation, thrilling in the gasping sounds of her strangling breaths around my cock. As my mind drifts', reveling in the wet sloppy sounds her mouth is making and the feel of her fingers caressing my balls, her short black bob turns into long brown locks. Her dark Native skin is replaced by pale silken limbs. No, no, no…my head tells me.

The scrape of teeth against my cock is a vivid reminder and a tap her cheek with my open hand. "Watch the teeth, sweetheart." I mumble and close my eyes to the dreamscape playing behind my lids.

She's before me, looking up at me with the wide innocent look and I see my hand wrapped around her long hair. Yes, that's it. Suck me.

Both hands come down, pressing on the back of her head as my hips snap forward in a staccato rhythm. I feel her saliva dripping from my sac, the resistance when I go too far…fuck it's too much.

I feel the white-hot coil in my belly tensing, ready to spring. "Table, boys." I hear Pops yell and the sound echoes down the hallway. I'm right on the edge, I look down to see my cock shining with her spit and the moment those brown eyes meet mine I'm done for.

"Fuck…swallow" I manage to cry out in a mangled version of my voice and everything goes white. I pulse so deep down it feels like my toes will perpetually be curled that way. The litany of curses that spew from my mouth is legendary. Fuck that feels good.

My cock unleashes down her throat as I hold her head in place, I hear her gag and swallow coughing on my dick as she takes it. Just what I fuckin' needed. As she releases with a pop of swollen lips, I quickly tuck myself back in. I see her still looking up at me, with reddened cheeks and an open mouth, slowly licking her lips.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" I ask, just out of curiosity, not that it changes anything but I'd like to know.

"Leah." She whispers, and given the time…the husky timbre of her voice could make this a night-long event.

"EX…table, goddamnit." I hear Pops yell in his 'Pres' voice. Not going to challenge that one at all. Nobody keeps the Pres waiting, not even his spawn.

"Thank you, sweetheart." I say with a tender finger down her cheek and I'm gone filing into the main room and taking my seat to the left of the head chair.

Pops even has his own gavel banging on the oak surface. The table of the Sons was carved by Dad and Edward (not me, the other one) when the club was started. It's thick as fuck and in the center is inset with the family crest. The same one emblazoned into skin with ink on the back of each member. Dad and Edward were the founders back in the day. Edward (the other one) was murdered, but nobody really talks about by who or why. That's when Dad took over the chapter. It's grown by leaps and bounds since then, branching out to Cali and New York and most major metro areas of the country. He's even connected with Sons back in Ireland. Crafty motherfucker he is.

"Alright, everyone knows the Chief is no longer with us. Sad to say, so what do we know about the new guy?" Pops says lighting up a fat cigar. Smoke billows up in tendrils from several hands as a murmur of concern is passed among us.

"One, Charles aka 'Charlie' Swan from Baltimore, MD." Jazz says as he passes a thick folder to Pops. "Divorced from a Renee Swan, who remarried a Phil Dwyer and lives in Florida. He's a minor league baseball player and she's a carefree hippie."

"Okay, do we know anything about him? Can we secure a police friend in him?" Pops asks, sucking on the big stogie.

Jazz shakes his head ominously, "I dunno, Boss, he seems to be a stickler for the rules. He doesn't have any record that can be found, except for exemplary service. We got nothing."

"Fuck me!" Meat exclaims loudly as I second that thought and take a long toke from my own cig.

"He has a daughter." I say before my brain catches up to my mouth and I cringe watching the table perk up.

"Yeah, an Isabella, aka 'Bella' Swan. Age 19, in his custody transferring to Southwestern Illinois College per the college's admission files." Jazz replied, hacking motherfucker supreme that he is. Fuck, she's 19…hell, I feel old.

"How do you know he has a daughter, EX? Did you tap that already?" Billy asks, and is encouraged by a round of chuckles.

"She was the tow in Baden this morning. I dunno, we talked on the way back and I dropped her off at the police station." I mumble, running my cig round and round the ashtray watching the ashes fall.

"Hell that could be our 'in' with our new Chief." Pops says with a salacious grin.

"I dunno, Pops, she seemed…" I find myself saying, not sure where the words are coming from.

"No, no…this is good. What man wouldn't do anything and everything for his child?" Pops says, staring me down with an evil glint in his eye.

Ever feel like you've just stepped into a big pile of shit…yeah, me too.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Seeing Sin Incarnate & Meeting Daddy's Disapproval**

_Author's Note: We finally get a peek into Bella's POV. I don't know exactly how often you will get it, maybe every three chapters or so. She will NOT re-hash the entire scene's that have already played out! Hers will be a thoughtful overview of what's transpired in previous chapters, without detailing the whole damn thing. (I always hate that in fics for some reason.)_

_Also, addressing the posting schedule, I'll be updating on Tuesday's and Saturday's (unless something unforeseen keeps me from it…i.e. that pesky RL stuff that sometimes has to be taken care of._

**XXXXXXX SOC XXXXXXX**

(Bella)

I have to resist the urge to turn back to see if Edward, or EX, was watching me. Hell, I could literally feel it. Of course, I've always fought against my inner conscience and look over my shoulder. I see a cocky-ass smirk and a cool half-handed wave as the engine revs and he's gone.

I stare at my Doc-encased feet and chuckle nervously, before shaking my head, squaring my shoulders and going inside the Police Department. People are aflutter, well two deputies and two employees answering the phone. I wait patiently at the front desk, waiting for the silver-haired lady finishes her phone call, while holding up one finger to me and nodding as she scribbles whatever the person says on a legal pad.

I take a seat on the wooden bench to the left of the desk and wait, replaying the events of the day in my mind. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Bertha, aka my truck, couldn't make the trip. Hell, having to stop every 50 to 60 miles to pour a shitload of water in the radiator kind of clued me in. Leave it to me to be karma's fucktoy and she finally gave out freakin' 30 miles from my new home.

Of course, the day didn't end up all bad, I think to myself as the lady behind the desk finishes her call and snaps her fingers at me to get my attention.

"Whatcha need, sugar?" She says in a quasi-nasal, but comforting voice.

"Hi. My dad's Chief Swan. I'm Bella, is he around by chance?" I ask, smiling at her as she actually takes the ink pen behind her ear and scratches her gravity-defying silver mop.

"Oh hell honey, I'm sorry you had to wait. Marjorie was just reporting a drunk and disorderly from her husband, Wade. Like that isn't an everyday occurrence. Take the damn bottle out of his hands, right? Stupid woman." She spouts, motioning me to follow her as her mouth rattles on. "I'm Shelly. Shelly Cope. Yeah, I don't know why Marjorie puts up with Wade's shit. I tell her every Saturday at the beauty shop to dump that asshole, but she won't listen."

I stifle a laugh as I follow her monstrous, swinging backside through the station nodding to the two officers and the other lady. I hear my dad's voice before I see him. "Goddamnit, where the hell is that file? I just had the damn thing. Shelly! SHELLLLLYYY!"

"Gravy, he's an impatient one, your father. Coming Chief, what are you looking for? Good God, what have you done to my filing system for Christ's sake? Shelly admonishes and my eyebrows rise seeing the atomic bomb of files and papers strewn all over what I assume to be Dad's office.

"Filing system? Filing system? Good God woman, what alphabet are you working with?" My dad yells throwing his hands wide. "Hey Bells." He mutters on the off-note.

"Good Lord, don't get your britches in a twist for crying out loud. What the hell have you done in here?" She grabs up files, muttering under her breath as she stomps out of the office, slamming the door until it rattles in the hinges.

"So, how's it going, Dad?" I ask, glancing to him and to the door.

"Shelly's a peach, it's coming along." He grumbles. Leave it to Charlie to underestimate everything. "What are you doing here, Bells? You have a house key, don't you?"

"Um, yeah. The truck broke down about 30 miles from here. Had to have her towed because you wouldn't answer your damn phone." I say with a smirk, enjoying the scathing Dad look I get in return.

"Bella, damnit, I told you I don't know how to answer the damn thing. It does everything but scratch my ass and I can't answer it when it rings." His face is comical in its frustration.

"I'll show you again later, it's ok though. It's at a garage in town; they are going to see if they can fix it." I say, stacking up the files on his littered desk.

"Well, that's good. What garage?" He asks and his hands go to his hips, waiting on an answer.

"Um, SOC." I say off-handedly. The slam of his hands down on the desk scares the hell out of me. When I look up with an open mouth, the look in his eyes screams, 'I'm your dad and I'm pissed off'.

I hear Shelley yelling for Dad from the front and I see his finger point right at me. "Sit your ass down, we are NOT done here." He growls as he storms out of the office.

Okay? What the fuck just happened? I replay what I said and remember that his demeanor immediately changed the minute I mentioned SOC. Of course, being a young woman of above-average libido, thinking of SOC made me think of HIM.

I didn't know what I expected when that flatbed pulled up. It sure as hell wasn't anything like him. He was all cock and swagger as he approached me. Given the way he looked, it worked. I saw his wild-ass hair, that color ranged the spectrum from brown to blonde to red. It looked like he'd just been fucked within in an inch of his life prior to the call. Whose hair looks like that?

The ink mapping beneath the arms of his t-shirt made intricate colorful patterns all the way to his wrists. I should've been scared shitless…I should've been. His voice rumbled out of his throat…raw, graveled and rough. Thank God I had the sense to shut my fucking mouth before he noticed. Even to my East Coast-fresh-to-the-Midwest mentality, the man was Sin incarnate. Then he had to go and open his arrogant cocky mouth!

Cocky son-of-a-bitch he was. That didn't last long. I shut that shit down immediately. Just because I'm a woman I'm supposed to be talked to like an inferior? Nope, I don't think so buddy. I don't care how good you look. I remembered our conversation on the trip; there I got to see a little beneath the entire tough exterior. Edward…for Christ's sake, I didn't expect that. I was a little taken aback when he turned his back and I saw the sleeveless leather emblazoned with 'Sons of Cullen' on the back. After a few seconds, it clicked in my brain…motorcycle gang. A small sliver of fear tingled along my back until I pictured him on a Harley. See, I'm young…a bit ADD, I guess. My hormones rule me.

Dad storms back into the office with a muttering fury, he pushes the door closed with his foot, I prepare myself for the 'wrath of Charlie' that I have no fucking idea what I did to evoke it. I guess I'm about to find out.

"Bells, listen, I don't want you going to the SOC garage to pick-up your truck. In fact, I don't want you having anything to do with SOC at ALL!" Charlie says, his voice rising in pitch with each syllable.

"Now, wait a minute. I haven't even moved into town and you're already telling me what to do and what not to do. That isn't fair, Charlie." I said with a huff, crossing my arms over my chest and my foot doing a double-time shake on the floor.

"Damnit, Bells, how many times to I have to tell you not to call me Charlie? And you WILL listen to me on this, Bella. It isn't safe. I don't want you anywhere near them or their club." He admonishes, pointing that damn finger again and causing his moustache to twitch.

I stand abruptly, my hair swinging around me as I rise. Yeah, you could say I have a wee bit of problem with authority, given that I'm not a child anymore. "Now just hold on. I broke down, you didn't answer and I called up towing companies on my phone and chose the first one that popped up. Forgive me if I didn't take the time to run a background check on them before I made the call to get me off the side of the road!"

"Bells….now Bells…hold on." Charlie said, holding his hands up in defeat, but unfortunately he took the top off my 'pissed off bitch' can.

"And the guy that gave me a ride to the station, even though he didn't have to, was pretty inked up but he didn't pull a gun or anything. He did ask me to blow him in the police station parking lot, but I haven't had lunch and told him I'd probably puke on his balls but…" I said, pacing back and forth.

"ISABELLA MARIE SWAN!" Charlie's face transcends red and enters the magenta/violet phase.

I drop unceremoniously into the chair and huff as I paint the perfect picture of an impudent child to my father.

"Bella, please. I don't want to tell you what to do, you're old enough to make your own decisions, Bear, but this is important. The SOC are bad news, just trust Daddy on this okay? Promise me you won't pick up the truck without me?" Charlie's eyes plead, even pulling the old childhood nickname he had for me.

I nod shortly and quickly as I rise, needing some space between my father and I to cool down. I can't resist a final jab.

"By the way, the blowjob thing wasn't true. We're meeting on Saturday for that." I flounce out of the room to my father's voice bellowing…

"BELLAAAA!"


	6. Chapter 5

_Irish Note: I want to apologize for it being a while since I updated this. RL kicks my ass sometimes, and re-tearing my ACL this week didn't help any. I'll try to be consistent from now on._

_I am stoked at the number of people who have favorited/alerted and commented on SOC. I apologize that I don't have time to respond to each reviewer personally, I read and appreciate each one of them. Thank you!_

_To my kick ass betas/pre-readers/prodders of my lazy ass to write, my Mr. and mamadog. *smooch* you guys make my liver quiver! 3 ya!_

**Chapter 5: Indecision and Heavy Hearts**

(EX POV)

The double doors of the chapel burst open under the force of my fists as my mind reels recalling all of Pres' talk…he wants to target HER. He wants her to be a pawn to get what he wants. For some foreign reason, it rubs me the wrong fuckin' way. My mind replays her innocent face, beneath the façade of a fuck-hot body and it just feels wrong. Never in my life have I felt this way, never have I questioned his words…not as a father, not as Pres.

My vision blurs with the impact of it as I step into the garage. Seeing her battered, old truck resting high on the rails makes it reality. I watch as one of the Prospects tinker here and there, tightening a loose connection and putting his hands elbows-deep beneath the frame. Without a second thought, I pull out my phone and press a few buttons, even though the number programmed has been ingrained in my brain since she put it there.

"Hello?" I can hear the hesitation in the timbre of her voice. She has no idea who's calling.

"Hey, it's Ex. It's gonna be a few days on your truck." I say, and the husky tone of my voice has me clearing my throat.

"What's wrong? Is it bad? How much is this going to cost me?" I hear her voice lift with uncertainty.

"Hey, no…had to order a few parts, gonna take a few days to get them in. Don't worry about the cost; I called in a few favors." I say, and I can't help the smile across my face hearing her relieved huff of breath.

"Edward, you don't have to do that. How much is it?" She stutters as she asks and I know she's thinking of the cost, although hearing my real name rolling off her tongue causes a visceral tightening in me.

"Bella, don't worry about it. I promise if the tab runs up I'll call." I say, knowing that I'll use any excuse to hear her voice, and cursing myself for my unexpected weakness.

"Okay, promise me." She says in a whispered rumble and my eyes close involuntarily.

"I promise." I murmur as the phone line goes dead and I have a have to force myself to pull the phone from my ear. Prospect's eyes are darting between me and the truck wildly.

"Do whatever you have to do. Put the parts on my tab and for fuck's sake paint the whole thing, that beast is an eyesore." I watch the Prospects scatter and the hum of the power tools at work is comforting.

"EX, chapel now." I hear Dad's rough voice command over the intercom and it leaves no room for compromise. The undertone of the order is pure Pres and I straighten my cut and my shoulders and walk back to the sanctuary.

"Sit down." He says, with a nod of his head as the smoke from the Cuban swirls into the air. I sit and let out a silent breath. "Do you have a problem with my orders?" His voice is calm with a razor sharp still edge. My hackles rise immediately.

"Fuck no, of course not." I say, lighting up a smoke and sucking the nicotine deep into my lungs. Hoping it will calm my nerves.

"That's good to know, boy. You see, my first thought is of this club and I do what needs to be done to protect it and make it grow. I gave an order, you get close to the girl and we can use it as leverage to get the new chief acquainted with how things run here in Collinsworth. If you have a beef with it, by all means put it all out on the table." His long fingers steeple beneath his chin, his words give the false security of being concerned. I have to tread lightly.

"I just don't know how much help she'll be. I spent less than two hours with the bitch and I had to fight myself from snapping her smartass neck." I chuckle and pray to any deity I can that he's buying it. "She's as straight and narrow as they come; I don't see her getting involved with an MC at all." I tap off the excess ash from my smoke and warily look up at Dad.

"Fuck, boy, have I taught you nothing. She's a cunt. Charm her, reel her in and enjoy the free pussy. Goddamnit, EX, it isn't rocket science. She's our in. Make it happen!"

I nod absently, pretending to ponder what he is saying. "I don't know, man, it just doesn't feel-" The loud slamming of his hands down on the oak with enough force to shake it stops my words short. The sadistic fire in his eyes transforms his face into someone else. The Pres sits before me…not Carlisle, not my father.

"I'm ordering you to do it. Am I clear? Or do we need to call a vote? I'll guarantee you, son, it's going to sway my way. Any questions?" His voice is steel hard and doesn't compromise. I have to do this now, I don't have a choice.

"Crystal." I say and with a nod of his head and wave of his hand, I'm dismissed. I leave the chapel as quietly as I can, my mind reeling. I don't know which Prospect offers up the shot of whiskey, and I don't care. I don't care that it's only 11am on a Tuesday. I need to be numb. Numb to what I've just been ordered to do. I've just been ordered to seduce a seemingly innocent girl and tear her apart.

(Bella POV)

I've rambled though the house all day. Unpacking boxes, washing clothes, and stamping my presence on my new home the only way I can. Of course, Charlie's presence is glaringly evident in the enormous plasma paired with his trusty recliner in the living room, his mess of a bedroom and of course, nearly no edible food in the kitchen. How he's survived on ramen noodles, delivery pizza and Doritos for three weeks I'll never know. He must have found a pretty good diner nearby is all I can guess.

My room is…functional. Charlie's erected my bed and desk and I spend a few hours there moving things around and making it mine. I set up all my beloved books in the bookshelf, their cracked spines and warped pages providing me storage comfort. The bay window with the window seat is the best thing about it. It's cushioned and I can picture myself there on many a rainy afternoon.

For the first time in my history with Charlie, I have my own fucking bathroom. Thank all that's holy. I can't tell you how many times throughout my teenage life that I was late for school because Charlie was "holding court on the throne". Jesus Christ, how long does it take? Get in, get out...done! I'll have to find a Target around here somewhere to deck it out in my style. God, what I wouldn't give for a Bed, Bath and Beyond. The thought makes me fucking giddy.

My silent musings are cut short by the startling bell-like ring of the wall phone just inside the kitchen. Who the hell has an avocado green wall phone anymore? The Swan's obviously. I snatch the handset just to quiet the eardrum-bursting ring and my little toe bangs against the base of the cabinet.

"Hell…fuck…hello?" I hop around on one foot cradling my stubbed toe balancing the phone between my cheek and shoulder.

"Jesus Christ, Bells, language for God's sake." I hear Charlie's growl and I snort at the irony.

"Pot kettle black much, Pop?" I say with a snicker and his huff of frustration is so worth it.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Listen, this place is a goddamn pig sty so I'm going to be late. Shelly's the worst damn secretary in the history of police forces." Dad says.

"Bite me, Charlie." I hear from the background. I think Charlie may have met his match with Shelly. It's funny as hell.

"Anyway, you be okay on your own for a while?" He asks the roughness of his voice tempered by obvious concern.

"Sure, I can eat the science experiment you have in the fridge that's growing fur!" I snort and hop up on the countertop.

"Yeah, sorry. I got used to being a bachelor again. We'll get you to the grocery tomorrow. There's some money in a coffee can in the freezer. Order a pizza or something, alright?" He says and I purposely count off on my fingers expecting the next thing out of his mouth. One Mississippi, two Mississippi…

"Make sure you keep the door locked and don't open it for anybody but the pizza guy. And, make him show you the pizza in the peephole, there's pepper spray in the drawer to the left of the stove. Carry that, and don't tell anyone who calls when you're home alone…" my hand palms my face…some things never change.

"Well, I gotta go, dad. I just let in some old geezer with a massive hard-on in the house and I ate the candy he gave me and he wants me to go help him find his dog, so I have to get in his van! I'll talk to you later." I say deadpanning the words.

"So, not fucking funny, Bella. Not fucking funny!" I can almost hear Charlie's face coloring purple.

"Later, Pop." I say hanging up the phone with a chuckle. I'm either going to keep Charlie young with my smartass mouth, or give the guy an early heart attack. I can't help it; it's as innate inside of me as breathing.

I dial up the number of the pizza ad hanging from a magnet on the fridge. I waste no time ordering a large pizza with my favorite, double mushroom and pepperoni. As I hang up the phone, I stare around the empty space somehow unsure of what to do now. Home sweet fucking home.

I wander the hallway, taking in the pictures Charlie's placed on the wall. Most of them are me from various grades, all elbows and knees with glasses and crooked teeth for the most part. Thank God for braces and contacts or I'd have been looking forward to a life of Sudoku and dozens of cats, valiantly hanging onto my hymen.

I pause for a second in the doorway of Dad's office. I shake my head at the mess that eerily resembles his office at the station. Its Shelly's fault my white tight ass! I resolve myself to straightening paper piles and files on the desk. I flop into the office chair as I zero in on the Sharpie written name of 'CULLEN' on the top of one of the thick files. Instantly, my mind pictures Ex, all cock and swagger as he walked toward me on the side of the highway. My curiosity gets the best of me as I open the folder.

The glossy black and white mug shot doesn't reflect the picture I have in my mind. The man pictured is blonde; the fierceness of the look shakes me a bit as I study it. I read the name board boasting white letters reading "Cullen, C. 187464, Collinsworth P.D." The rap sheet on the other side shows a hefty list of charges for one Carlisle Cullen aka "Daddy C". My eyes flit over the charges spanning two decades…arson, grand theft, attempted murder, assault and battery, racketeering and the list goes on and on.

All at once it dawns on me. This is Edward's father. It has to be; I think as I flip through the pages and find my confirmation a dozen pages down. '_Esme (Platt) Cullen, wife. Two sons, Edward Xavier Cullen and Emmett Carlisle Cullen. Known associates…"_

My mind is spinning as my eyes search the desk, picking up files to see the names of Esme Cullen, Billy Black, Jacob Black and finally zeroing in on Edward Cullen. My hands shake as I open the thick folder. The breath catches in my throat as those electric eyes stare back at me in his mug shot. I flip through the pictures, there are several depicting Edward from the young age of 15 right up to the one from just three short months ago, when he was picked up for public intoxication.

I take in the wild hair that I know shines bronze in the sun, the sharp cheekbones and those sinful lips that are even captured in the half smirk. I don't want to know anymore and I try to close the folder…even as my eyes scan the words on the page. I sink back into the chair as I read every word outlining every crime in Edward's life.


	7. Chapter 6

_Irish Note: Ya'lls enthusiasm for this warms my heart. Thank you so much!_

_Just a reminder, EX is NOT the Edward you know and love. He's an outlaw biker, and his words and actions make that very evident, you've been warned! Now, enjoy the wickedness. *evil grins*_

_Until Tuesday's update~xoxo Irish_

**Chapter 6: Reflective Release**

(EX POV)

My knee bounces out my agitation and frustration as the crew mills around the clubhouse around me. I stare at the whiskey in the glass in front of me, hoping to find some understanding in its amber depths. I don't know how many I've had, all I know is the bottle is there and it's a hell of a lot emptier than when I left chapel. I think everyone knows not to fucking mess with me just from the vibes rolling off my body, because they sure as hell stay away.

My mind reels and my blood boils as Pop's words roll around in my head. I've always had a problem with authority, I fucking HATE being told what to do. The fact that it's not only my father but also the Pres of the MC telling me to basically fuck the police chief's daughter so we can put the Chief in our pocket and continue business as usual. Super! This day just keeps getting better and goddamn better.

I swallow back a hefty draw of whiskey, reveling in the fire in my throat until it settles into a warm pool in my belly. My eyes lift to the Wall of Fame, all our most recent mug shots on display. Hell, there are at least a dozen shots behind the current one gracing the wall. Yeah, you could say I have a problem with authority.

Would I have probably tried to tap that on my own? Hell yes, she's fucking gorgeous and she was made to fuck. What chaps my ass is being told to do it. Her wide eyes flash through my mind and it makes the thought that much worse, plus adding in the tight pull I feel in my dick as it starts to harden doesn't make the situation any better. I glance around me to make sure nobody is seeing me sport a woody, relieved in the fact that they are oblivious.

It isn't very often that I second guess anything Pop orders. Hell, I can't remember a single time before now. I think that's what has me so pissed. I'm pissed that I'm being forced to do this and I'm pissed that I fucking want to do it, at least parts of it. The part of having Bella naked beneath me while I pound into her has promising outcomes. I glance down at my crotch, definitely not helping my situation.

Part of my resistance is she's an innocent girl, and I didn't sign up to destroy those when I patched in. Rival charters, low-life fuckers…sure, I don't think twice about dealing with them in whatever way is needed for the good of the club. But, she's not a part of that world. Hell, she's so far removed from that world it's fucking comical.

My blurred vision focuses after a few blinks and I see the empty glass. In my frame of mind, that too pisses me off and I sweep my hand sending it careening to the floor behind the bar gaining some small thrill by hearing it shatter. The bottle neck fits in my hand perfectly as I turn it up.

I need to wrap my head around this. Pres gave an order, I have to do it. I don't have a choice, and somehow that absolves me of some of this guilt I feel. A trilling annoying laughter rings out and turns my head toward the sound. It's one of the sheep, tall and fake in every aspect…fake tan, fake blonde and fake tits. Everything opposite of the image rolling around in my head and I have it. Perfect fucking clarity.

I wobble a bit as I stand, clutching the bottle in my fist. My steps are purposeful, albeit a little unsteady. I wrap my hand around her upper arm and pull, the startled 'oh' from her mouth makes me chuckle. It's a short walk to my room down the hall, I push her inside and follow, and kick the door shut with a slam and turn the lock.

"Strip." I grumble and after her eyes widen a bit, she complies.

"I'm-" She begins.

"Don't fucking care. Shut your mouth and strip." I roar, my patience hanging on by a thread. I have to get HER out of my head, now. I watched as the clothes dropped and fake-baked toned skin is revealed as I open my belt and my drunken fingers pull at the button and zip. She turns and throws out her hands as if she's on a fucking stage and it just adds fuel to the fire burning in my brain.

I'm quick to turn her and push her down over the edge of the bed, gripping the blonde hair around my fist. I waste no time taking my dick in my hand and zeroing in. I sink balls deep with a sigh. I block out her squeal of happiness and it's no holds barred.

My head falls back as I set a punishing rhythm, slamming into her rapidly. It feels good, really good. My mind conjures up a picture of perfect pale skin, long brown hair around my fist and a bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she looks over her shoulder at me.

"Fuck!" I yell and double my efforts, my balls slapping against her in an effort to rid her from my mind. Every sigh and whimper from the body beneath me echoes in my mind as HER voice. You've got to be kidding me!

My hands grip hips, growling as I thrust brutally. Behind my closed eyelids, I see Bella beneath me, small hands gripping the sheets and pushing back into my thrusts. I hear whispered words telling me how fucking good it feels, begging me to fuck her harder. I gasp in shock to feel my cock jerk and spurt. I push hard and grip skin hard enough to bruise.

I look at the clock on the bedside table. Four fucking minutes…are you fucking kidding me? I haven't blown in four minutes since I was 13! This fucking girl is messing with my head. Does Pops know what he's asking me to do? I've spent an afternoon with this girl and she's got me all turned around. This is going to end badly.

I pull out and slap her ass. "Get out." I growl, collapsing on the bed with a grunt and let the whiskey take over as my eyes slide closed.

(Bella's POV)

The only sound in the room is paper turning as my eyes rivet, taking in every black word on the pages. The sound of the grandfather clock in the foyer chiming startles me as my eyes lift to the clock on the wall. It's fucking midnight. I've sat here for hours, reading files on each and every member of the SOC.

My eyes again go back to the open file on Dad's desk and see that face, staring back at me as it has for many hours. I rub my eyes and focus on the page in front of me, currently reading the exploits of one Emmett "Meat" Cullen. The face in the mug shot doesn't fit the crimes. For fuck's sake, the boy has dimples. If it weren't for the black ink scrawling from the neck of his t-shirt in the photo, you would think he's the All-American boy. That and the face that he has a penchant for stealing and violence. I huff in exasperation, pulling open the file of Esme Cullen. I study the picture. She's beautiful. Soft eyes and serious expression with highlighted streaks of blonde through her light brown hair and I can see the black ink on her chest teasing above the name board but I can't make out the design. I read the rap sheet depicting charges of assault on another woman with a crescent wrench and possession of marijuana, less than a dime bag. I look closely at the picture, this is Ex's mother. I wonder how close they are. She obviously isn't the type to have chocolate chip cookies and milk waiting when you get home from school, but something about her face shows me that she could be.

I look over Edward's life; played out in police files all around me and it shakes me. Was his life ever normal? Was he a normal kid, like I was or was this life? A life of people floating in and out between jail times. For fuck's sake, he was born when his father was serving time for murder. If Carlisle's lawyer hadn't have found a loophole that crumbled the case, Edward may still have never known his father.

I pull out a battered, but thick manila envelope, reaching inside to pull out the contents and there are dozens upon dozens of what look like surveillance photos. My breath catches and my fingers shake as I look upon a shirtless EX harmlessly playing basketball on the parking lot of the garage. The jeans are grease-stained and hanging dangerously low. Low enough that the deep V of his abs catch my eye, along with that sinfully tempting little trail of dark hair beneath his bellybutton that disappears beneath the waist of the denim.

Several pictures further, stall my breath to see the extent of the black ink swirling into the skin of his back. The exact detail of what looks like a family crest is blurred by the obvious distance of the photographer, but I make out what looks like twin lions and maybe shamrocks? The words curved above and below, although, are crystal clear. "Sons of Cullen" is emblazoned in distinct dark ink. The other designs swirling down his right arm from shoulder to near wrist while intricate and striking pale in comparison to the startling statement covering 80% of his back.

The next picture is somewhat blurred, as if taken in a hurry as Edward looks over his shoulder toward the photographer. The sheer defiance in his face is evident in clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. I stare at that face for who knows how long until the rattle of the doorknob in the kitchen. Hells Bells, Charlie!

I fling from the chair, still clutching the photo of Edward shirtless as I search frantically around the room, satisfied that it just looks tidied as I flip out the light and head toward the hallway. I look down at my hand and hurriedly fold the picture and stuff it in the back waistband of my jeans, adjusting my shirt to cover it as I hear the tell-tale popping of a top on the beer.

Charlie stands in full uniform at the refrigerator, chugging the brew so fast I swear his Adam's apple is having an epileptic fit.

"Bad night, Pop?" I say, propping myself up in the doorway.

"Christ, that woman is the spawn of Satan with a mouth like a trucker. It'll be a miracle if I don't strangle her by the end of the week." Charlie grumbles as he clears his throat.

"So you like her? Super duper. Night, Dad." I say as I tuck tail and fucking bolt up the stairs. I hear his grumble of "Nice talking to you, daughter o' mine." in deadpan sarcasm as I shut my bedroom door.

I immediately reach for the photo, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in the paper as my fingers ghost over his frame, forever captured in the picture. Quickly, I stash it in the drawer of my bedside table and get ready for bed, suddenly exhausted from the day.

I lay in the dark for who the fuck knows how long, tossing and turning, seeing that face every time I close my eyes, but I see it in 3D fucking Technicolor. In my mind, I watch with riveted interest one bead of sweet rolling down those abs and tangling in that treasure trail. With a muttered curse, I jerk off my panties and reach blindly for the second drawer of my nightstand extracting BBTFW (Blue Billy the Fake Willy) and flip him on, satisfied that I don't have to go rooting around the house with my dad awake to find "C" batteries for my…fuck, I don't know what I'd make up to tell Charlie I need them for. My TV remote won't quite cut it.

I reach for the lube and hesitate, reaching a hand down to 'test the waters'. Fuck me; I'm surprised I'm not slipping off the damn sheets. Exxon-Mobile has nothing on me. I relax back on the pillow and flip on my friend.

"No, pussyfooting around tonight, my friend. I need this quick and dirty." I whisper as I put Billy to good use, sliding it inside me to the hilt.

"Fuck me running." I mutter, in a halted sigh, already feeling the coil of release in my belly reaching out and making my toes curl.

That was the first night a biker got me off.


End file.
